Rhonda III: We're In Each Other's Worlds Now
by JayDogg187
Summary: A sporting incident indirectly leads to a major complication between Arnold and Rhonda in this latest one-shot, with reference made to Rhonda II. Plus, I've set myself a challenge to push the 'K-plus' rating to its absolute maximum without straying into 'T' territory.


**Disclaimer: The Hey Arnold characters belong to Craig Bartlett, and him alone. That his characters have inspired such hubris in me that would see me attempt a fan fiction based on them, speaks volumes of my reverence of the man.**

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**Rhonda III: We're In Each Other's Worlds Now**

The front door to the Lloyd residence swung open, only Rhonda didn't walk in; she was being piggybacked by Arnold.

"OK, Arnold, that's quite enough!" she proclaimed in an attempt to salvage what remained of her dignity. "I'm capable of taking it from here!"

"I don't know, Rhonda," countered a dubious Arnold. "That was a very nasty hit you took…"

The hit in question had occurred during a baseball game at Gerald Field. Harold was pitching; Rhonda was on plate, preparing to face the big brute. Behind her, Helga as catcher. Goading '_Lard Boy_' to '_give some heat to the princess_'. Harold obliged, but couldn't control his pitch and so let fly an errant fastball that struck Rhonda on her left thigh. The impact sent the elegant girl crumpling to the ground, dropping her bat in favor of clutching her now painful limb. She also took the chance to pepper Harold with a string of vituperative utterances mostly centered around his girth, his mental acuity, and the presumed size of a certain reproductive appendage.

All present stopped what they were doing. Firstly, to marvel at Rhonda's most comprehensive unladylike vocabulary. Secondly, to gather around and deliver their own medical assessments. Their learned opinions led to two conclusions:

(1) "_That_ looks painful."

(2) "Maybe Rhonda should go home and rest up."

Only...standing up, let alone walking, was out of the question.

Enter Arnold, who in the absence of Nadine (family matter), offered to piggyback Rhonda home, to her protests and the teasing of the rest. The rest, as it turned out, was aware of Rhonda splitting her time and attention equally between Nadine and Arnold, so speculation was rife as to whether Arnold and Rhonda were indeed sitting in the tree. Regardless, Arnold ignored the looks he and Rhonda were receiving and continued in his endeavor. The teasing continued, except from Harold who kept insisting that he didn't know anyone named Dick.

So here they were: the Lloyd residence.

"Really, Arnold, I'm fine!" insisted Rhonda despite her hobbling gait.

"Rhonda, you're not!" Arnold responded more in concern than disapproval. "Are you really telling me that you're going to climb the stairs to your room in your condition?"

"I am! Just you watch me!" said a defiant Rhonda as she tackled the first step to an immediate cringe. Undaunted, she turned back to Arnold: "But if you _insist_ on helping, run to the kitchen and fetch some ice. I just _know_ he left a bruise."

"Whatever you say, Rhonda," teased Arnold. "Whatever you say."

As he fetched and prepared the ice, he cast his mind back to their first kiss, the first _proper_ one which they shared in the park. Since then, it had been baby steps all the way. The occasional get-together in the park where they'd mostly stroll hand in hand while chatting idly and sharing random snippets of information about each other. And if Arnold was intrigued by Rhonda before these events, afterward he was enamored. He felt honored that he was getting a better understanding of the intriguing dichotomy that was Rhonda Wellington Lloyd.

On the one hand, she could be vain and pompous. And yet, she seemed totally comfortable hanging around with a group of friends that her social circles would dictate she avoid. In fact, she confessed that she considered the group to be her dearest friends, a notch or so below Nadine and Arnold. In the same breath, she swore Arnold to secrecy under threat of her mother's hot wax treatments.

She'd also confessed to being glad – perhaps relieved – that of all the PS 118 boys, _he_ was the one to make his feelings known to her.

"_I mean_," she'd told him, "_you're so effortlessly cool. I mean, why else would you make my Cool List? But you wear your cool in a way that's so effortless and…what's that word again…'humble'?_" Yes, she struggled with that last word the same way she did with the word 'poor'.

At least she was making an effort for him, not that he'd ever ask her to spurn her unique character just for him. He like-liked her too much to make such a demand.

With the makeshift icepack prepared, he ventured up the stairs to Rhonda's room. Being always the gentleman, he announced loudly to Rhonda that he was approaching. But instead of permission or denial, he heard from her: "Urgh! Look what he did! This is bad!"

Politeness gave way to urgency as Arnold rushed upstairs towards Rhonda's distress, calling her name in concern. From her open door, he saw that yes, there was indeed a bruise and yes, it was bad. It was a sickening combination of blue, purple and yellow that had no right to appear in nature. The reason he could perceive it in such detail was that it was in plain sight. It was in plain sight because Rhonda was examining it in her mirror. And to assess it in her mirror, she had to expose it. And to expose it, she had to lower the left side of her long black pants. Which is how Arnold found her, exposing a generous amount of satin cheek his way.

Rhonda felt the presence of a boy stopped mid-action and turned to see a wide-mouthed, dumbfounded Arnold staring at her, trying desperately and failing miserably to avert his eyes. When she realized that she and Arnold were not necessarily focused on the same area, she hurriedly pulled her pants back up with a surprised yelp, which instantly turned into a painful squeal as her sharp movement brushed against the still-sensitive bruise and exacerbated her distress.

Silence followed.

Confused silence from one side.

Pained silence from the other.

Awkward silence all around.

At this point, it was unclear which of the two was blushing more profusely.

"I…uh…brought your ice…Rhonda," attempted Arnold as he slowly approached and held out the ice. She hurriedly accepted his offering – she did, after all, request it from him. After some more silence, she spoke.

"I suppose it's pointless asking you to forget what you saw…" she said in quiet, desperate hope.

"I didn't mean to, Rhonda! Really…I didn't!"

Rhonda could only sigh: she knew he was telling the truth; she knew he wouldn't willingly do something like this. Plus, she couldn't threaten him by using his embarrassment against him. Since he'd already survived the white bunny onesie episode, any threat of public embarrassment would carry no weight.

After another brief silence, she spoke in a voice devoid of emotion: "Arnold, do you mind just leaving the room, please? I'll call you back when I'm ready."

"You…you're not mad at me or anything…are you?"

"That's just it," she explained. "I feel I should be furious…and yet…I _know_ this was an accident. We both just got careless."

"I…uh…honestly think I should head home right now."

"Arnold! Stay!" she ordered before offering her rationale. "It's just that…whether you wanted to or not…you saw a part of me that no other boy from school has seen." She then saw how uncomfortable he became at that comment, but she was undeterred. "And I trust…I mean, I like-you-like-you enough…to show you a side of me that not even Nadine has seen. And you _know_ she's my best friend, right?"

Arnold had no idea what to expect, but he sighed in agreement with Rhonda's terms. Down the stairs he went to wait in the lounge. The wait lasted about five minutes – punctuated by the occasional cry of pain – before he heard the call: "OK, you can come up now!"

Back up he went, preparing for anything and nothing at all. He got to the room and what he saw was a different kind of breathtaking.

"Well, what do you think?" asked an expectant Rhonda as she presented herself.

She was wearing a red – of _course,_ it would be red – loose-fitting tracksuit ensemble that emphasized comfort over style. But most striking were the glasses she was wearing. They were the same rectangular prescription glasses she'd worn some time ago.

"See Arnold, this is what I wear when no-one from school is looking. Times I want to be comfortable instead of fabulous. Mostly if I'm doing homework here on my own. And the glasses…" she didn't give him a chance to get a word in. "Yes I did switch to contact lenses, but I can't wear them 24/7, so…yeah, the glasses."

She then looked to the ground, half-dreading his reaction. Sheepishly she repeated: "So, what do you think?"

When she got no answer, she looked up for an explanation, only to find Arnold stood right in front of her, wearing one of the sincerest smiles she'd ever seen from him. "Rhonda," he stated as he grabbed her hands, "you're pretty no matter what you wear! It's not your clothes that I like about you. It's _you_."

Rhonda was left speechless but compensated for her mute state by looking up and smiling back at Arnold. It was too much for her as she leaned down and planted her lips on his. The kiss was no less electric than the one she gave him those weeks ago in the park when she concluded that he was ever so kissable and if only she could find an excuse for another one…such as the one she was currently experiencing.

After she pulled away, she maintained her affectionate gaze before asking: "Arnold, why don't you stay for a bit? I'm sure Simmons gave us a ton of homework today…"

"Yeah," Arnold acquiesced. "Homework sounds like a good idea."

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**Author's Note**: In case anyone shares The J.A.M.'s curiosity as to why Rhonda didn't call a cab, here's the explanation I provided:

'_**The HA! series never makes it clear where exactly the characters live in relation to each other, but I felt it reasonable to assume that any given park or field would be within easy walking distance from any given character's home. To the point where Arnold would not consider it too much a burden to carry Rhonda to her house.**_

_**Plus, I mentioned that Arnold carried her home "to her protests", so who knows: maybe she was ready to hail a cab before he intervened.**_"


End file.
